nipple night out

My Italian boys took me out to a Pasadena Club: Red, white and Bluezz. Great food, wonderfully executed jazz. Live, ofcourse.
Ahh, the lively conversations, ahh, the stories they can tell, Ahh the way they harass every woman who walks by. No pair of boobs is safe around my Italian boys. they can spot tits and the quality they come in on a very wide radius. It's impressive. It's like a talent they've developed: they know boobs and have categories of boobs I never even thought of. I didn't know there were so many types of boobs out there before I met my boys. They must have been giving this matter a lot of thought. Did you know, for example, that there are puffy nipples of at least 25 varieties? puffy areolas with button like nipple, puffy areola with long nipple, puffy nipple with small areola, just to name a few. And, check this out, there are websites dedicated to puffy nipples. There are webmasters out there who make a living off of looking at puffy nipples all day long. There's gotta be a guy who wakes up in the morninng, drinks his coffee, kisses his wife and goes to work in a place where they take pictures of puffy nipples and nothing else. he chooses the best puffy nipples he can put on the home page of his website: this nipple is too short, this nipple is too long, this nipple goes to the market...And then, the guys who sit at home and look through this stuff: who has time to categorize nipples or jerk off at a specific type of nipple? Who pays to support these websites? It's an amazing world. Let's call it a nipple world.

birthday boy part II

the text message read: "wanna hang out tonight?". C wanted company. He wanted me to tell him how beautiful he was.
I wondered if I could be coherent enough to impress him again with my game. what did I tell him last time we've seen each other? what kind of mood was I in? what did I wear?
I put some clothes on. dramatic make-up. I met him in the lobby of a hotel. He was impatient and wanted to pretend he didn't care. He was wearing a suit and a tie. He's only 19. Fallen angel. takes my fucking breath away with those full and arrogant lips, with those darker than darkness eyes.
"wanna go upstairs?". I followed him. bossanova music in the elevator. He walked onto the floor, searched for the room. We walked into a suite. He crossed to the window and looked outside. I just stood there. He turned around, took off his tie, jacket and shirt. Angry face. He walked so close to me that his breath was filling my lungs. he smelled my hair. he didn't touch me.
"want something to drink?" he set down on the couch and stared at me.
"you're not that pretty, you know?" He lit a cigarette. "I had better looking girls. Models". "how much will you charge me for the night?"
"how much have you got?"
"five thousand. not a penny more."
"I want it all."
"Only if you tell me you love me."
"Let me see the money first." He reaches his pocket. Pulls out a bunch of hundreds. He counts them. there's five thousand dollars. I reach for them. He grabbed my hand.
"you said you wanted to see the money. where's my goods?"
I get naked in front of him. he stands up. He examines every pore of my skin.
"You are such a whore" He gets down on his knees. he takes his penis out of his pants. He jerks off. The air around us is tight. I want to move, but I can't. His eyes are strangling me. I want to breathe, but his desire is wrapped up so tight around every fiber of every muscle in my body, that If air would reach my blood stream, I'd explode.
"I love you"
He comes.
We get dresssed, walk downstairs to the casino. We walk through the Black Jack tables. we reach a roulette table. I place five thousand dollars on Black. The Roulette spins my fortune together with my love and my desire of him. C is smoking. Relaxed and almost smiling.
The little ball stops on 16. It's red. The croupier gathers everything off the roulette table. I must be lucky in love.